


Asphodels

by the_empty_pen



Series: PHWEEK2020 [2]
Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Angst, Flower Symbolism, I'm sorry this is really sad, M/M, but I mean it., elleo is just more or less implied, lots of I'm sorrys, this is just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_empty_pen/pseuds/the_empty_pen
Summary: Picking up one of the already withered flowers, he sits down onto the wet grass and it’s cold and uncomfortable and just what he deserves.-He puts the asphodel blossoms all over the grave, they’re so many he can’t even count them.
Relationships: Glen Baskerville | Oswald Baskerville & Lacie Baskerville, Leo Baskerville/Elliot Nightray
Series: PHWEEK2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700932
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Asphodels

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so we all know I'm for flower symbolism in everything, I have a major thing for it (man would I get along with Elliot and Leo---) and just.  
> ah.  
> sorry this hurt while writing, this is pure angst, I'm incredibly sorry (no, I'm not, we all know that, too. I like pain.)
> 
> safdgshjgkh have fun or sth :'))

**Gathering the roses, we sang for the hope.**

The soil is still wet from yesterday’s rain when Oswald puts the few Asphodel flowers onto it in the form of a small bouquet. There’s a white ribbon around it that is dyed into a dirty brown when it touches the earth. The grave is smaller than usually.  
There’s a golden cross that he’s paid a lot for – it was worth it.  
It’s beautiful. It catches the light of the sun and makes it shine just as golden as she had always claimed the abyss to be.

“Alice didn’t come with me today”, he whispers, knowing that she can probably hear him. She’s with him at all times, in his heart, in his soul, painting it black from the inside.  
His hands are trembling as a few tears catch themselves on his eyelashes.  
The same hands that have pushed her into the abyss, the same fingers that have touched her forehead just before he had told Jabberwock to put her into chains and push her down just like Jury and Levi had used to tell him.  
If he had wanted to, he could have told Jack to take her. He knows that he would have done it. God, Jack would have done everything for her if he had only asked.

And yet…  
He had killed his own sister, without any further questions. Not only that – he had done it way too late.  
But that, he would only realize after another hundred years.

“She looks so much like you.”

Looking at Alice just hurts, no matter which Alice she is – she resembles Lacie in every part of her being. Her hair colour and even her comportment are the same.  
Yet, he takes care of her. Maybe because she’s his sister’s child. Maybe because he’s trying to repent for his sins in his own way.  
As long as he can feel the pain that Lacie’s loss brings him, it’s fine. He doesn’t need more, really. In fact, if he ever did feel happy, it would seem fake.  
He doesn’t deserve any positive feeling after killing his own sister.

Picking up one of the already withered flowers, he sits down onto the wet grass and it’s cold and uncomfortable and just what he deserves.

Jack didn’t come with him either – Oswald doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to be glad or not. Jack has cut himself off for a few weeks after her death and suddenly he was back as if nothing had ever happened.  
Levi seems especially happy with him, for some reason – even more to be suspicious of. 

“Lacie.”

Her name in his mouth feels wrong because he doesn’t deserve to say it out loud. Think it.  
She was way too pure for him and his blood-stained hands, the red of it never completely leaves them no matter how much he scrubs.  
It’s not that it’s on his skin.  
But it’s inside of him and that, that is much worse.

One of the asphodel flowers starts to hang its head, almost as if it’s just as miserable as he is. He doubts that’s possible.

“I’m sorry.”

-

“I’m sorry.”

It’s just a whisper leaving his mouth when he looks at the big, black tombstone that has his name engraved on it in fine letters. It’s right next to his sister’s. The sister he’s killed.  
He will never play the piano with him again, will never discuss a book with him and he’ll never fight with him again either.

The pain he feels is ok. He’s partly at fault for his death. He made him contract Humpty Dumpty because that was the chain who was supposed to protect him, as the next Glen.  
Leo will never forgive himself for that.  
On the other side, Elliot insisted on going after the kids in the deepest part of Sablier because of that stupid hero instinct he had that he didn’t even acknowledge in first place.

Leo almost smiles, then sits down, the flowers grasped tightly in his hand. He’s holding onto them and he’s holding onto his own life.

Yes, Elliot is gone – but Vincent is there for him as well as the rest of the Baskervilles. Gilbert, too.  
They’re both mourning the most important people in their lives, but them going through it together does make it better at least a little bit.

“What did you apologize for, Elliot?”, he asks, knowing very well that he will never receive an answer.  
Not now, not in hundred years. He’s going to live on in the body of another Glen, he’s never going to be reborn like Oz and Alice.  
He’s never going to meet Elliot again.

“Our fight before?”, before you killed your sister and your mother, before you killed yourself for Oz’s and my sake, “all the other fights before that, even? It pisses me off that I’ll never know, you stupid idiot.”

The corners of his mouth twitch upwards after all pulling his lips into a tiny smirk.  
Elliot was quick to argue, quick to lose his temper. Just like Leo himself.  
They were the same and they were so very different at the same time.

“Maybe it’s better if I never know why, though. Who knows what else you’ve done when I wasn’t around.”

He’d love to raise his hand and push it through Elliot’s hair _just once_ , to make Elliot catch his hand mid-way through the motion because he hated anyone touching those ash blonde strands of his.  
Just for the sake of getting to feel his hand on his.  
He only remembers the flowers in his hand when a thorn drills into his finger.

“Right”, he says, more to himself than to anyone else; there’s no one with him, anyways.

He puts the asphodel blossoms all over the grave, they’re so many he can’t even count them.  
Then he picks up the rose again, the one that has stung his hand, takes it by the blossom and throws it at the tombstone with all his might.  
It isn’t a lot and not much happens, because he’s fairly weak.  
But that’s fine.  
Elliot probably got the message that way.  
The smile fades away and instead, his eyes start burning.

“I’m sorry, too.”


End file.
